


Counting the Days

by WanderUntilLost



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Castiel is Saved (Supernatural), Depressed Dean Winchester, Guilt, Happy Ending, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Post s15e19, Season/Series 15, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:54:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27613090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderUntilLost/pseuds/WanderUntilLost
Summary: Chuck has been beat. Jack is basically the new God. Sam had the love of his life back. The Winchester’s have come out on top once again.Except, Cas is stuck in the Empty. Dean is determined to find a way to save him.Until he does, he counts the days that go by without the angel. As the count grows, Dean struggles through his guilt and grief.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 138





	Counting the Days

**Author's Note:**

> Canon up through 15.19. 
> 
> It’s a bit dark and twisty, but does have a happy end.

* * *

**  
Ninety fucking seven days.**

Dean’s hand shook slightly as he made the small tally mark that counted the days. Ninety seven small, uneven black lines mocked him, reminded him of how badly he had failed one of the most important people in his life. Ninety seven days without Cas – leaving him stuck in the Empty, suffering. He felt his stomach roll and a tightness start to bloom in his chest. He closed his eyes against the swell of panic and shame that was brewing inside him.

“Fuck. Cas, I’m sorry,” he whispered, willing his words to find their intended target. “If you can hear me, I’m so sorry. I’m going to get you back. Just… wait for me.”

The grip of panic loosened with each word. Praying to Cas, he had found, was the best way to stop an oncoming breakdown. He didn’t know if the angel could even hear him, but he hoped like hell that he was getting through. Cas needed to know that he wasn’t giving up. Dean didn’t care how long the search might take or what the end cost will be. 

_All_ that mattered was bringing Cas home.

* * *

**One hundred and twenty thee days.**

Some days were easier to mark than others. Dean hadn’t figured out why that was. The good days didn’t start any differently than the hard days. Some, like that morning, just seemed less difficult.

His hand stayed steady when he added another line to the page. The panic didn’t rear up in his chest as he thought about the ever increasing number. His eyes didn’t sting with the threat of tears and the walls weren’t closing in on him.

It was a good day – because he felt numb.

“Hey, Cas. I’m still looking for a way to get you out of there. Don’t worry, man, I’m not gonna give up. Give me time,” he prayed to the lost angel, making an effort to sound positive. He didn’t want Cas noticing the flattened tone that came with the numbness.

Maybe he should have worried about the days he felt numb. He knew that they couldn’t be healthy. He just didn’t care enough to worry about it. Dean couldn’t help but appreciate the brief escape from the constant onslaught of emotions. Plus, he didn’t have the time to sort through all of his bullshit personal problems – not when Cas is still stuck in the Empty.

Cas needed to come home first.

That was what mattered.

* * *

**Two hundred and fifty five days.**

Dean almost didn’t make the mark that morning. The stupid lines, so many damn lines, made him feel sick.

He was trying so hard to find answers and hadn’t found anything more than hints at a ‘key.’ The accounts were vague and pretty much useless. He knew the answer was somewhere in the Bunker’s library. He felt it in his gut. Unfortunately, said library was utterly massive and getting through it was slow work.

Agonizingly slow.

He had no idea how long it was going to take him get through the daunting collection. He had no idea how much longer that meant for Cas.

That awful tightness in his chest hit him without warning. Instead of the usual slow coil of increasing panic, this was fast and came with the force of a lightening bolt. A roaring sounded in his ears and the room shifted wildly around him. He couldn’t stand it.

He couldn’t stand at all, actually. He felt the impact of his body hitting the concrete floor more than he saw it. The shockwave of pain that shot through him was different than the one in his chest.

He reveled in it – the change from emotional to physical pain. Physical pain he could handle. The other… He didn’t know if he could take it.

The panic attack that had brought him to his knees subsided slowly. Dean wasn’t sure how long he laid on the floor of his room. Only a few minutes? Hours? It didn’t matter, really.

He didn’t have anyone there to worry about him.

It just didn’t matter.

* * *

**Two hundred and seventy eight days.**

It wasn’t a good day. The line he made was large and jagged. It wasn’t the only one like that on the page. He looked at the marks. They told the story of his wild mood shifts over time. Some were neat and straight, some were dashed that were added quickly, but, the large majority were done with the shaky hand of a ruined man.

He knew he had been a wreck since Cas had been taken away. It was one of the worst days of his life. He relived it nearly every damn night in his sleep.

_Billie’s invisible hand squeezing his heart. Cas holding him up while they tried to escape. Turning into the dungeon, into a corner with no escape. The guilt he felt as he realized what he had done. How he had doomed them all._

_And then Cas was talking. Dean was hearing every word but couldn’t quite process it all. Billie was banging on the door. Cas was telling him about his deal. That stupid fucking deal. Cas was telling him what he saw in Dean. The world seemed to be off its axis in that moment. Something clicked and Dean realized that Cas was saying goodbye and that he loved him. Dean had wished more than anything that he could have stopped Cas from doing it._

_He pleaded for him not to, because he couldn’t say goodbye. He needed Cas to stay with him. He would be lost without Cas in his life. Why couldn’t he have said any of that? Instead he has lost his voice – saying next to nothing and all the wrong things._

_The awful sound of the black tar portal would haunt him forever. The worst moments don’t stretch out, he had found out. The worst moments are over in seconds – in a blink of the eye – in a beat of the heart._

_Cas was gone and Dean was left behind. The words rang through his head as he sobbed on the floor for hours after._

_“The one thing I want is something I know I can’t have.”_

_“You changed me, Dean.”_

_“I love you.”_

_“Goodbye, Dean.”_

_Over and over he heard Cas’ voice, saw those bright blue eyes of his filled with tears, felt the weight of the hand on his shoulder._

Eventually, he had moved. The world had still kept spinning, his brother and Jack had been waiting, and Chuck had still needed to be dealt with.

He had managed to keep himself composed while they brought down Chuck and found their people safely returned from wherever Chuck had sent them.

After that, he couldn’t hold it together any longer. Losing Cas had been hard enough. Essentially losing Jack right after felt like a shot to the gut. The final hit was when Sam had found Eileen.

He should have been happy for them. His baby brother was in love, moving in with his girlfriend, and had a real chance at a happy future. He should have been elated for Sammy.

Instead, he felt himself shatter. His family was gone. He felt completely alone.

That was the day that he sent his first prayer to Cas. That was the day he had promised to find a way to get his best friend back. That was the day that he was going to follow his own heart, like he should done so many years ago. He wasted too much time.

He whispered a reaffirmation of his promise to Cas as he relived the memories that had broken him.

* * *

**Three hundred and thirty one days.**

Dean had woken up feeling different that morning. The ache in his chest was still there, but it had dulled. He noticed that his hand wasn’t shaking when he added to the daily tally.

He wasn’t numb. He wasn’t panicked, either. Something new was bouncing around inside of him. A feeling that he hadn’t had in a very long time.

Hope.

For the first time since The Day, he smiled. He was close to finding the answer, he knew it. His gut told him that today would be an _actual_ good day.

“Cas, buddy,” he started, wondering if the angel would hear the smile in his voice, “I hope you haven’t given up in me yet. I’m still hitting the books hard. I’ve got a good feeling. I’ll see you soon.”

* * *

**Three hundred and thirty one days (Continued)**

He had been right. The day turned out to be fucking fantastic.

Sammy had offered to help with research that afternoon. Dean didn’t notice the entrance until a large hand was placed on his shoulder. He wasn’t sure if he had been too lost in his reading or if his brother was moving that quietly.

Either way, Dean jumped a mile high and a distressed yell had bubbled out from him when Sam’s hand landed on his shoulder. The younger man had tears running down his face at Dean’s uncharacteristic reaction.

“Shut up, bitch,” Dean grumbled.

The responding “Jerk,” was a welcome sound. It had been too long since the brothers had exchanged their favorite affectionate insults for each other.

They spent the day pouring over old books. Dean felt a flame of happiness start in him while they talked and joked. It felt almost like before – when it was just them, searching for their dad. A distant memory of simpler times and less worries.

Hours ticked by. Sam had decided to stay longer than he had planned. After a quick call back to let Eileen, he settled in to the books again. Dean’s optimism was contagious. _There could be worse things to catch_.

The book was discovered by accident. It was on a haphazardly stacked box that Dean hadn’t gotten around to worrying about yet. Sam, somehow, had tripped directly into the mess.

The book – massive, old, and battered looking – landed perfectly into Sam’s lap. Dean couldn’t remember having seen it when he was moving the boxes from storage. He tried to think back but couldn’t recall having ever seen that book before. He had a feeling that “Mr. Hands-Off” was cheating a little bit.

Sam turned it over in his hands, inspecting it carefully. “‘ _Nihil Est Ipsa Ingens,_ ’” Sammy read, tracing his finger over the words. His face scrunched together and his eyes closed while he worked to translate the words in his head.

Dean waited. His leg started to bounce uncontrollably. The hairs at the back of his neck stood on end. Had they actually found _something_?

Sam’s eyes snapped open and met Dean’s. He felt his stomach flip at the triumphant look that Sammy suddenly wore.

“Roughly, I think it translates to ‘The Vast Nothing.’ The Empty. This could be it, Dean. Let me see…” Sam trailed off, muttering to himself. He brushed off and brighten the book to the table he’d been working at.

Dean was frozen, unsure of what to do. His heart was beating so fast. He could feel it trying to escape his chest. The rapid thumping filled his head.

He didn’t hear Sam’s next words, but he knew by the grin and the excited movements that Sam was making that Dean’s search was over.

The book that held the Key to the Empty.

To saving Cas.

Dean didn’t bother to hide his emotions from Sam, as he might have done before. Relief, guilt, excitement, nervousness, happiness, sadness. He was jumping all over the map, unsure of where his final mental and emotional state was going to land.

Instead, he focused everything he had into sending this particular prayer. He didn’t know if Cas could hear any of the prayers he had made, but he was going to try his damnedest to make sure he heard this one.

“Cas? Hope you’re ready to come home. Sam and I found what I’ve been looking for. I’m coming to bring you home, sunshine.”

* * *

**Three hundred and fifty two days.**

He had not marked today on his list. Before the end of it, he planned to have Cas home and light the damn list in flames.

The book had taken days to translate. By Sam’s understanding, the Key was to be used in a Place of Importance. There were instructions for a complex spell that Dean didn’t understand one bit of to get the location.

Dean stared at barn, confused. It had been years since they’d been there. He had asked Sam four times since they had pulled up of the coordinates were correct. They were.

He wasn’t sure why this barn held more significance to Cas, especially when they had met in a completely different barn. Only fighting had happened here.

“You’re sure you got it right?” He asked again for the fifth time. Sam rolled his eyes and walked ahead of Dean, done with answering him.

He didn’t know what the expect. Sam had given him the basics. Same would use the key to open the door and call up Cas from the depths of the Empty. Dean would have to go in and play the hero. He’d be on his own, as Sam had to stay behind to keep the door open.

There was a million and ten ways this could go sideways. Dean worried about them briefly and dismissed them all.

All he needed was the one good reason he already had to do this: Cas.

He found himself bouncing from one leg to another as Sam worked to open the door. He rolled his neck and put his hand to the knife at his side. He was ready.

The portal was different than the other ones he’d seen. Rather than glowing orange, this one seemed to suck all the light around the crack in reality. The Empty. The void. He felt a sliver of apprehension crawling up his spine.

Before the feeling took hold, he gave his brother a solemn nod and stepped through.

The darkness around him was disorienting. He couldn’t tell what was up or down, forward or behind. He wasn’t even sure he was standing. He could have been laying. Or floating, even.

There was noise everywhere. Screams and howls and chattering bounced around him from unknown directions. It was deafening but almost soundless at the same time. The darkness seemed to be trying to absorb the noise, dampen it – and it was failing.

Blinking, he tried to orientate himself. He looked at what he assumed was behind him, to the portal. It was there, nothing but a small speck of light hanging alone against the nothingness. It helped ground him, knowing he had a focal point.

Moving was interesting, too. There was slight force that pushed against him. Maybe it was that black space, maybe something else. Whatever it was, it made his skin crawl. Walking through the force was almost like walking through water. He found himself unconsciously moving to propel him forward.

“Cas?” He called, searching for any sign of the angel. Nothing but blackness, stretching infinitely on. He called again, and then a third time.

Dean began switching between cursing and calling for Cas when _it_ appeared.

“You’re not allowed here,” it hissed. Cold fear hit him. Pure anger and rage created those words.

Dean looked over at what he assumed was the voice of the Empty – the Shadow. It looked like Cas, except it didn’t. Briefly, the memory of the Leviathans taking control of his friend’s body came to mind. That was what this Empty-Cas resembled. It was wrong.

“Yeah? Give me Cas and I’ll be on my way,” he managed to get out smoothly, laying on as much charm as he could. His hand held his still-sheathed knife handle tightly. He really hoped he didn’t get into a one-on-one with this thing.

Empty-Cas let out a bark of laughter. Dean hated the sound. It was nothing close to the low chuckle he was used to. “Castiel made a deal with me. He’s mine.”

“Yeah, I get that,” he replied slowly. “Look, I do. A deal is a deal. What about a new deal?”

The thing before him tilted its head curiously. The Empty pulled it off well. It was a gesture that Dean had seen before countless times from the real Cas. He’d missed it, he realized.

The not-Cas smirked. “You have nothing that interests me. I just want to sleep. Now that the one who woke me up is back, I can sleep again.”

It turned its back on Dean, done with the human.

“Wait!” It paused at Dean’s call. He opened his mouth to negotiate more when it was pressed against his front. Dean had never even seen it move.

“LET ME SLEEP!” The Empty-Cas screamed. Fingers gripped the side of Dean’s face, clawing into the skin. His skull was on fire, lightning tendrils coursing from the angry being into his bones.

He screamed. Forty years in Hell had nothing on this. He could feel the darkness around him closing in, ready to absorb him into the nothing.

He couldn’t stop screaming. Wailing. Breaking.

His skin felt like it was going to burn off. He felt his insides, his veins and organs and bones, melt and solidify and twist and break.

The fingers on him twisted, digging deeper, increasing the torture.

He didn’t know if he was even screaming any longer. He thought that might’ve begged or fought, but he couldn’t tell. He didn’t know anything beyond that unimaginable pain.

As fast as it had began, the torture ended. He collapsed as the creature released him. He might have vomited. He had no strength or will left in him. He should try to escape, but he can’t move yet.

There were voices, angry and loud. He tried to look up. There were three figures that he could see against the inky world. Eyes blurry, he couldn’t make them out.

One of the blob-like figures came toward him. Dean was able to make out the billow of tan fabric as it moved closer. He flinched away from it as it touched his face. He knew he wasn’t going to survive another attack from the Empty. There was no way he could.

The attack never came. Fingers glided over his face, gentle and light. Familiar.

“Dean?” The figure asked. The voice of an angel – unlike anything that would get labeled as “angelic.” It wasn’t musical or light. It was a deep, beautiful rumble.

The voice of his angel. Dean smiled as much as he could with his face feeling like it had been hit by twenty of Thor’s hammers.

“‘Ey, Ca’. Rescyoo.” That’s not what was supposed to come out. He tried to speak again, only to be shushed.

“I know, Dean. Thank you,” the lovely voice replied. To someone else, he heard “Do we have a deal?”

It was not as nice as when it talked to Dean. _Still sexy_ , he thought. He liked the voice.

“Yes,” another snapped. The Empty-Cas. Dean didn’t like that voice at all. “We have a deal. Let’s finish it.”

There was a shifting next to him and a flash of blue. Against this pitch dark, the light felt warm and safe. It went away far quicker than Dean would have liked.

His Cas – he was positive it was him - moved again to grip his waist and haul him up from the maybe-probably ground. He still couldn’t tell what was what. He thought he might vomit again with the movement. Thankfully, he did not.

“Go, before I change my mind. I don’t want to you or your little pet here _ever_ again, Castiel,” he heard the bad voice say.

Cas was tense as he walked them both to the door. It took an eternity – it was probably shorter than an eternity, though – to reach. He never wanted to be in the dark again. He hated the dark.

As they began to step through, a force behind the pair pushed, throwing them from the Empty with malice. Dean would have to guess that the primordial being didn’t want to be friends with him. Their loss.

He hit the hay covered barn floor hard. He moaned from the pain that still swept across his body. He could hear a commotion around him, someone calling his name, shaking him, touching him. He tried to tell them to stop but no words came out.

He tried to move. Nothing.

He tried to open his eyes. Nothing.

Panic rose up in his chest. He couldn’t do anything. He needed to move, talk, see. Anything. Anything. Why weren’t they helping? He needed help.

He tried to transmit to anyone who might be able to read him.

Help.

Help.

Help.

Help.

Please. Help.

Someone was holding his hand. Another was holding his head. A third set of hands joined, pressing lightly against his forehead.

He didn’t remember any more.

* * *

**Two days later.**

Dean didn’t open his eyes right away. He felt the softness of his bed beneath him. The blanket smelled clean. He didn’t feel any pain. Just warmth.

Luckily, the lights had been turned off. He hated waking up after being nearly killed to bright ass lights.

His eyes shot open as he remembered… everything. He sat up, searching for the blue eyes angel. No one was with him.

The bitter disappointment was overwhelming. He thought he remembered that Cas had taken him out of the Empty, had come with him. Apparently not. He’d imagined it all.

Dean felt tears start to roll down his face. He had failed. Not only did he get himself seriously messed up and piss of another super-powered being, he also didn’t save Cas. He failed him.

“FUCK!” He yelled, hitting the bed frame with his fist. “Fuck. I’m so sorry, Cas… I’m so sorry….” He repeated to himself, to Cas, to Jack, to anyone that might be listening. He curled on his side, letting his grief take over.

He heard the bedroom door open. He didn’t bother to turn around. He wanted to be alone. “Get the fuck out, Sam!”

There was a pause behind him before that voice he thought he had heard the last of spoke, “Hello, Dean. Do you wish for me to leave, as well?”

Dean then learned that some of the best moments in life don’t pass by as quickly as se people say. They’re instead like a deep sigh. Soft and long, stretched out as long as the moment is allowed. Their eyes locked surprised green against brilliant blue.

He wasn’t sure who moved first. They could have started at the same time. It wasn’t the rushed reunion that he had pictured. They came together slowly.

He raised his hand to Cas’ face and brought their foreheads together. His closed his eyes and took in that moment. The soft skin against his, the warm breaths hitting his face, the smell of his own soap coming from Cas’.

“You’re really here.” Cas nodded. Dean pulled back. “How?”

Blue eyes shifted away. “I heard your scream. It… woke me. Jack, he heard it, too.” 

Dean pulled back, shocked. “Jack?”

He nodded before continuing, “We were able to come to…. An agreeable arrangement with the Empty.”

“You made a deal. Again,” his voice dropped with venom. Cas stepped away completely. The increased space and the idea of losing Cas again was too much. The words poured out his mouth in an angry fit, “How could you make another deal, Cas? How many times at—“

“Dean,” Cas said in a low, no-nonsense voice, “You misunderstand.”

“I misunderstand? Care to elaborate?”

“Yes. My deal with the Empty was to never return. I gave it my Grace and was allowed to return here, with you. It wanted more than my Grace, though. My suffering, your suffering. Mostly, it just wanted sleep. Jack agreed to help The Empty with its slumber. It’s lucky Jack came to your aid.”

Dean blinked as he processed. “Jesus, Cas. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to… Well, fuck. I’ve seen you die too damn many times. The idea of you in another deal…” he trailed off with a shake of his head.

“I apologize.”

“What? No, you’re fine. Okay, first, you’re human now?” Cas nodded.

“Oh. Are you okay? That’s big, Cas. Really big.” Another nod. Cas was giving him time to work through it.

“We’re going to talk about that more, but later,” he said, pointing a finger at these angel… no, man, now. “Jack helped? Is he okay?”

Cas spoke this time,“Jack is wonderful. I knew he’d be something great.” Pride and joy radiated from him for the boy he raised as a son.

The conversation continued, Cas explaining that Jack healed Dean before leaving again. That he had been out for two days. Sam and Cas had been watching him in shifts. They hadn’t been sure he was going to wake up, even with Jack’s help.

Dean listened. They’re going to need to talk other stuff. Serious stuff. About their time in the Empty. They’re both a little broken. He didn’t mention that yet. That can wait for a little bit. He’ll deal with it later.

As Cas wound the recap of the previous few days down, he paused unexpectedly. He searched Dean’s face for something. Dean didn’t known if he found it. Cas looked away from him.

“Why, Dean? Don’t you know how dangerous… how stupid that was?”

It was barely a whisper, but it roared in Dean’s ears.

“Ah, Cas,” he muttered, “because you were wrong.”

Cas reacted as if Dean had slapped him. Wide eyes shit to Dean’s face, lips parted to respond, cheeks flushed. He looked dumbfounded and utterly gorgeous.Dean stepped closer, pulling Cas to him.

“You said what you wanted you couldn’t have. Very wrong about that. You can have it, dumbass. You _do_ have it.” He leaned in to brush his lips over Cas’ quickly before continuing, “I love you, Cas. So stop dying on me.”

Cas pulled away to give him a smirk that Dean would swear rivaled his own.

“I think I can manage that.”

“That sound like a good deal to me. I got a question for you, though.”

A tilt of the head was his invitation to continue.

“What’s so special about that barn? Your ‘Place of Importance.’”

A blush spread across Cas’ face, but he didn’t say anything. Dean was about to take back the question when Cas told him.

“That’s where I knew I was in love with you. That I would do anything for you.” 

He was speechless. How had he been so oblivious for so long? He was a blind, stupid asshole. Thank goodness or whatever that he didn’t miss the chance completely.

Dean leaned down to kiss Cas again. It was slow, sweet, and perfect.

Dean started a new tally that night. Days _WITH_ Cas.


End file.
